How come February is the shortest month, but somehow feels like the longest? Thankfully, it’s punctuated by Pippin’s birthday, which provides a ray of intense sunshine in what is otherwise, so often, a dark time for me. There have been some high points this month, too, so it’s not all bad, but some very sad times to boot.
I always find February a struggle. In last month’s diary, I alluded to the fact that I hadn’t been feeling too great, either physically or emotionally, and as February dawned, I was in a very low frame of mind. It’s like a swamp that pulls me downwards at great speed, taking my confidence and any aspirations or desires with it. I know I’m very privileged to have the life I do, so chuck a big lump of guilt into the equation as well.
This year my winter depression has been worse than it has been for many years, to the extent that we were checking out my pension to see if I could take it early and give up making pottery. When your work is the thing that defines you, and you fall out of love with it,
